What Price Another Chance?
by TheKid200182
Summary: Dean Thomas was cheated of his love. When the war was over, he reverted to a monastic way of life. Then one day, an opportunity knocked on his door…an opportunity to get back at the Potty and the Weaslette. Deancentric, Post Hogwarts. Oneshot R&R Please!


**What Price Another Chance?**

**Summary:** Dean Thomas was cheated of his love. When the war was over, he reverted to a monastic way of life. Then one day, an opportunity knocked on his door…an opportunity to get back at the Potty and the Weaslette. Dean-centric but HP/GW pairing, obviously. Post-Hogwarts.

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim to own Harry Potter. I am not using JK Rowling's characters for any monetary gain.

**Author's Note:** All of us have our failures, memories of losses and things we should have done but didn't do. Many of us must have wished for another chance...but at what price? What would you be willing to pay to correct your mistakes, and have another shot at life?

**Dedication:** For C, who has guided me in my constant struggle to understand the world. For D…for being just who she is. And thanks to GINNYPOTTER258 for being the most zany, cheerful and delightful beta ever! You go, girl.

* * *

**Act 1: The Muggleborn**

_**No. 47 Delaney Way, London**_

_**26**__**th**__** December.**_

**5:30am.**

I awoke in the morning.

The air in the room was cold and chill, the floors solid and freezing. Compared to the warm woolen blanket Grandma had made for me before she moved on, it was sheer Hell frozen over. Y'see, Hell is still a nasty place, frozen over or not. Legends say it is hot and volcanic. Well, Hell can still be a hell if it's frosty.

I should know. I've been through several hellholes on Earth, and whether it was freezing cold, searing hot or balmy and calm, Hell was still hell. The Death Eaters made sure of that.

I awoke in the morning. Forcing myself to leave the comfortable cocoon of warmth I had created in my bed, I slipped out of my bunk bed and walked to the bathroom.

Opening the cabinet, I removed my toothbrush and face-flannel, and proceeded to relieve the world of the horrid sight that is Dean Thomas when he's just out of bed.

Once I was dressed, normal slacks and a polo shirt, I padded downstairs to make a hearty meal of oatmeal, coffee (double-black) and toast.

After Scourgifying the plates and making sure they put themselves back properly, I headed to the study to work on my articles.

I write articles for five different magazines, and illustrate for three of them. It's how I get my bread and butter, working freelance under five different pseudonyms. I run the 'Dear Dave' and 'Dear Dan' advice columns in _Witch Weekly _and _Teen-Wizard_, the 'Big Brother' broom maintenance guide in _Which Broomstick_ and (don't tell anyone) a relationship therapy column and a joke section in _PlayWizard_ and _No Wizards Allowed._

I only illustrate for _Witch Weekly, Teen-Wizard _and _Which Broomstick_, and not the latter two. Seriously.

I closed my study door and untied the package of parchment scrolls I had taken home from the offices of the editors last night. There was a bundle of around twenty-five letters, hand-picked by the respective editors of the magazines. Picking three of them which I felt were most in need of advice, I set to work.

In the bundle too was a sheet of parchment which listed the various drawings and sketches required. _Which Broomstick _needed two drawings and sketches of the latest broom models, the utility Everyman 2600 and the flagship model of the latest Nimbus racing series, the N-3000. _Witch Weekly_ needed a humourous caricature of the Weird Sisters, while _Teen-Wizard_'s editor had asked for a diagram of 'any interesting Muggle appliance' for their Muggle Relations help page.

I settled on the toaster for the _Teen-Wizard_'s request. The last time, my diagrammatic drawing of a wrist-watch had garnered pretty good comments from both my editor and the public. I knew just how to make my toaster a hit, too.

I set to work.

* * *

**12:00pm.**

At precisely twelve in the afternoon, an owl fluttered down to my window. It was a typical brown owl, such as can be hired from any post office or the Ministry of Magic. It was probably junk, I decided, but I opened it anyway.

The owl took off immediately.

I slit open the letter with the silver letter-opener Seamus had given me for my eighteenth birthday. It was a fantastic paperweight, and was very handy in my course of work.

_Mr. Dean Thomas,_

_47 Delaney Way, London_

_You may not know who I am, but I know who you are. There is one girl, a pretty one, indeed, whom you desire. You had her once, but she was stolen from under your nose by one with whom we are all acquainted._

_I can pay you with riches for the task you are to complete; your current job is not altogether satisfactory, I know. However, I believe she is a far prettier prize than a mere handful of Galleons. I should know. I once lusted after her myself, even though far more advanced in station I was._

_Your job is simple; you already know what it entails, or at least you suspect. Stay in your home tonight; do not leave the house. I will pay you a call myself._

_Opportunity knocks once, and you had your chance in your sixth year. But she was unjustly snatched away from you. I now give you another opportunity; see that you waste not._

D 

_D_? Who the hell was D? And what was the writer talking about?

I tossed the sheet of parchment into the wastepaper basket, certain that it was a prank call. Probably from Seamus, or maybe even Neville. That rascally Herbologist had a far too cushy job at the Magical Zoo; he should have a bit more paperwork to keep his meddling hands busy.

I glanced over my toaster drawing, added several fine lines, and stopped to admire the effect. Then I picked up my wand, muttered "_Evanesco!"_ and started over.

* * *

**6:58pm.**

It was nearly seven o' clock by the time I was finished. As I sketched and inked in the designs to be sent to the editor, I couldn't keep my mind off Ginny. How was she, I wondered. I sincerely hoped Potter was treating her well. True, he had behaved enough throughout the war, but then they were broken up then, weren't they?

If he had hurt her in any way, Potter was going to pay…really pay…

Finally, the toaster, letters and the Weird Sisters (complete with illustrated guitar-bashing) was complete. I yawned, and stretched. I glanced at the dregs of coffee by my side, and took an experimental sip…and then grimaced. Perhaps a nice cup of fresh coffee and something from the chippy-shop down the street would cheer me up.

I slung on my coat, grabbed my keys and my wand, which went into an inner coat pocket and went out the door, locking it behind me. I turned up the collar against the biting cold and stuck my hands in my pockets to keep them warm.

The chippy was still going strong, despite the French café that had opened up across the street just a month before. I deliberated between croissants and baguettes with coffee or fish and chips in a paper sack, but the latter won out.

I went up to the counter, and asked for my usual. They knew me by now; I don't generally eat dinner at home. As I turned around, I saw a brown owl glide effortlessly from a nearby tree.

Strange. What would an owl be doing in a predominantly 'normal', non-Wizarding suburb?

I shrugged; perhaps it was just a normal owl. Or maybe it was just overflying the area. But the bird lingered in my mind.

"Mister Thomas, your order's up," said the girl at the counter. She was a pretty one, pink-cheeked and well-shaped, and the head of the establishment had once hinted that she had been making eyes at me. Once, when business was slow, I'd stood there chatting for an hour with her.

But I had no interest for Clarice, and we remained mere acquaintances. I supposed she too, moved on. I certainly hoped so; I didn't want her to be in a similar position like me; caught in a limbo between, unable to forget, unable to do anything but reminisce.

I took my bag, made a little small talk with Clarice, and left when another customer approached the shop. As I walked back to my house, I picked at a few chips and realised I was famished.

I reached the door, and twisted the knob. Strange. It wasn't locked. I was sure I had locked it.

Stuffing the chips and fish into a pocket, I whipped out my wand, and to hell with the Statute of Secrecy. I had been one of the Order of the Phoenix's frontline men, and I knew several surviving Death Eaters who would just love to ambush me in my house.

Shutting the door behind me, I moved past the coat-rack, wand out in front of me. The hall closet was empty save for mops, brooms and buckets, and I moved on.

As I entered the living room, the lights flickered on. I reacted instinctively, shouting "_Protego!"_ and diving to one side.

The man who stood by the light-switch at the far end of the room twirled a cane in his nimble fingers. Not even a wand, who did he think I was? He was smiling, but the smile did not reach his icy-blue eyes.

"It is not enough for you, Mr. Thomas, to force me to enter your filthy Muggle house, but you must attack me?" he drawled.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" I ground out. In my favourite armchair, too. "Get out, I'm going to have to _Scourgify_ this house after you've defiled it."

Draco Malfoy was one of the few Death Eaters in the Wizarding World who were still alive. Vincent Crabbe was one; they decided that he was too stupid to have willingly joined Voldemort. Malfoy was another, pardoned because he sold out his compatriots before the last battle.

The slimy, snivelling git.

"I only want to make you an offer, Thomas. An offer that I am quite sure you will not refuse." Malfoy smiled. Smarmy bastard. "And I don't wish to sully my hands with the likes of you either, so the feeling's mutual."

"Get out," I said, pointing my wand at him. "Get out!"

"You received my owl?" said Malfoy, inspecting his fingernails.

…_I now give you another opportunity; see that you waste not._

D 

_D_? D. Draco. Dolt. I inadvertently glanced at my office door. Malfoy saw that and smiled.

"I thought so. Intrigued you, didn't it?"

"I have nothing to do with Potter or his girlfriend any more. I've more or less cut ties with the Wizarding World. I don't even receive the _Daily Prophet_ any more," I said. Which was true, I never saw how my work turned out.

For the first time, Malfoy showed a little interest, and he got off my chair. "Oh, but you can't erase the memories, can you?" he murmured. "You can't forget her, the snivelling little Weaslette."

"T-that's not…" I took a step back as he came closer.

"Do your lips tingle, where she used to kiss you passionately?" he said, smirking. "Does your body still remember her soft caresses? Does your mind still recall the sweet nothings whispered in your ear, as you embraced for hours on end?"

I didn't say a word. Truth be told, he had struck a raw nerve there. I still loved her, would always do, and it was the main reason why Clarissa and I had never made it past the acquaintancy stage.

It was true that I thought of her, often. Though I tried to cure myself of her by distancing myself from the Wizarding World and immersing myself in work, she came into my thoughts frequently, however hard I tried not to think of her.

She came during those odd moments when you stub your toe, or catch your finger in the way of a slamming door. She came when I lay awake at night, flushed with joy at a particularly successful article. She came when I tossed and turned, hounded by a not-so-good piece in the _Prophet_.

Draco was watching me; as I snapped out of my reverie, trying not to show how hard his words had hit me, the little berk laughed.

"'I have nothing to do with Potter or his girlfriend any more'," he mocked.

I said nothing.

"Did you read the letter? I'm assuming you didn't toss it away immediately. Well, Thomas, I repeat my offer to you; another chance for you and your Weaslette. Interesting? Judging by your facial expression, yes," drawled Malfoy.

What would I give to have her in my arms again? What would I give to have her smile at me once more? What would I give to have her warm hand on me again, soothing the icy demons inside me that still plague my dreams?

"What do you want me to do?" I muttered softly, hating myself even as I said it.

"Ah ha! I knew you would see it my way," said Malfoy, grinning. "If even the Minister could be swayed, what could a Muggle-born like you possibly hope to…"

"Then leave, before I hex you to bits," I growled.

"Simmer down. It's very simple, of course. You will be interested to know, obviously, that Potter's Weaslette girlfriend is no longer mere girlfriend but fiancee?"

The word struck me sharply in the gut, like the Death Eater's knife so many years ago. "F-fiancee?" I croaked.

"Oh yes," said Draco, rubbing his palms together. "All over the _Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, Teen Wizard _and even the snot-rag _The Quibbler._ Of course, you would have seen it if you subscribed to those. The _Quibbler_ article was very good, and since Ms. Lovegood is Ginny's friend, of course she had lots more 'scoop' on the _Prophet_…her article was full of informative quotes."

"Quotes?"

Draco clasped his hands together. "'I'm so happy. We've been together for quite a long while, all the way since sixth year, in fact'," he said in a sing-song voice.

The knife in my gut twisted further.

"Did it surprise you?" asked Draco mildly. "Why should Dean Thomas and Ginevra Weasley's short sixth-year sojourn be remembered anyway? Potter's the famous one; Potter's the successful one…"

"Potter's the sneaky one," I whispered.

The familiar bitterness clouded me again. She and I had been going on great, until Potter had seduced her shamelessly. I knew he was trouble the moment I realised he was Quidditch Captain. I should have attended the Quidditch practice more often. I didn't realise Potter had plenty of opportunities to accost her then. I thought he was more honourable than that.

I was wrong.

Angrily, I remembered the time I'd stood up for him through the whole of fifth-year. When Potter was being ostracised and reviled by everybody, who had supported him quietly, who had given him advice, who had helped him overcome his trials? His dorm-mates, Neville and I!

I'd even fought a duel one day, without Potter knowing. Tobias Scarabus, the slimy sixth-year Slytherin, had insulted Potter, leading to a war of words between Neville, I and he. That had ended in a fierce duel between Tobias and I. The sixth-year knew a Dark spell or two, and I only ended up on top because of the Dumbledore's Army training.

And this was how I was repaid. Pah!

"Yes, I know," smiled Malfoy.

Apparently I had voiced that last exclamation. I didn't remember. It disturbed me that I didn't remember.

"You loved her, didn't you? You thought Potter was the king throughout fifth-year, even to the extent of fighting Scarabus for his honour, on his behalf. And here is the just reward for a follower, a blind follower…a stupid follower!"

He spat the last words out. "I was one too, lackey of that snivelling traitor, that woefully inept Potions master…but I broke free of the shackles he clamped around my mind."

"But you were Snape's star student…" I began.

Draco cut me off. "I was his slave. I was his lackey. I was his servant, his pet animal, his faithful, loyal, _brainless_ follower. But I escaped," he went on, "I saw him as who he really was." He gazed at me levelly. "You can too."

"But what do you want?" I whispered.

In answer, Draco smirked. "For you to regain your beloved Ginevra, you would need to get rid of Potter entirely."

I staggered back against the wall. "You…you don't mean…"

"Yes," smiled Draco. "The world would be better off without another strutting peacock. Merlin knows there are plenty enough in the Ministry. Without getting rid of Potter, Ginevra will forever be blinded by his charms. Indeed, being the potential mate of the vaunted Chosen One has turned her head."

I stared at him. He was talking about the murder of my ex-schoolmate as casually as if we were discussing the weather. How rainy it is nowadays, and shall we murder Potter…?

"No," I whispered. "There's got to be some other way…"

"There is no other way!" he snapped. "We must not compromise. You and I, we are alike in a thing; we are both independent, we are both strong, we both know what must be done. It is distasteful, yes, but it must be done!"

Murder! I'd never seen myself, Dean Thomas, 22, as a murderer. I'd never seen myself doing such a foul deed. And yet…and yet…if this were the only thing that I could possibly do to have her again…

Memories crowded my mind, memories of kisses shared, of embraces passionate, of her peppy laugh like tinkling wind-chimes, her way of gazing at me that turned me into water, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the way she demurely crossed her legs, the way she talked (like music to my ears), the way she worked, the way she walked, even…oh, that I could experience such again, that I could think of these in the present and not just in the past!

"I feel your pain," said Draco, and, for the first time, his voice was sincere. "I felt it too. You know very well that Pansy Parkinson is married to Theodore Nott. It was an arranged marriage, and she…she was too righteous to betray her family for such a disgraced fool as I."

I looked up at Malfoy; the hint of a tear glistened in the corner of his eye. Suddenly I felt drawn to him; here was a comrade, a brother, even, who, alone of all my so-called friends, shared my pain, and knew what it was like to love and not be loved back.

We are alike, in a thing… 

Would I kill for Ginny? Sweet Ginny, her elfin face frozen in an expression of joy, captured forever in the school sketch pad I hadn't touched since we broke up…the special sketch pad, with only her gracing its insides…would I could restore those still images back to life and motion? Would I could hold her again, feel her against my body, soft and warm, supple and tender, instead of the cold impersonality of a mere sheet of paper?

Would I kill for that?

"You know you would, Thomas…Dean," said Malfoy.

He knew me so well, did Draco Malfoy. And when he said it, I knew I would, too. I would kill for Ginny.

Chosen One notwithstanding.

* * *

**Act 2: The Second Traitor of Gryffindor House**

**_Hogsmeade, Scotland_**

_**28**__**th**__** December.**_

I walked towards the Hog's Head bar. My cloak was pulled high up, a tweed cap on my head. I splashed through the puddles as I headed for the bar, but I didn't notice them. Once inside, I ignored the stares from the regulars and went up to the barkeep.

"Bloody Mary," I muttered.

"What in ruddy hell…" began the bartender.

"Sorry…Firewhiskey," I said. "Make that a double."

Eyeing me malevolently, the bartender dusted off a mug and filled it with a smoky, amber liquid from an equally-dusty bottle. He set it down on the bar with a _thunk!_

"Sickle," he growled. I flipped it over.

I took the tumbler, and stared into its murky depths. I usually chose a Bloody Mary when I was in a foul or depressed mood, usually sticking to a bevvy when I went to the local pub. I hadn't tried the famous Firewhiskey before, and hoped it would fill in Mary's shoes well. I was in a jolly mood all right.

I caught the eye of the bartender, who was staring at me. "Bottoms up," I grinned, raising the drink to my lips. The bartender grunted and served another customer.

The fiery liquid splashed down my throat, burning my insides pleasantly. It was nothing like what I'd ever tasted, and I'd had a few drinks the normal people (I almost never called them Muggles) would have called 'exotic', at best.

Just goes to show, dunnit?

The doors swung open, and I made a show of yawning and stretching, when actually my eye was cocked towards the doorway.

A swaggering, arrogant blonde walked up to the bar, with what the normal folk call 'the classic pimp cane' swinging from his arm.

I ignored him. He ignored me too.

After a moment (and another tumbler of Firewhiskey) I went to the dingy little outhouse round back of the Hog's Head that served as the bar's toilet. I waited outside, in the freezing cold.

A moment later, he joined me.

"Malfoy," I said.

"Thomas," he nodded.

"Rather early for a drink," I said.

He looked up at the sky; dawn's morning rays were penetrating the dark, leaden clouds.

"They start early," said Malfoy.

It was all business, then.

"So how are we going to do this?" I said. My palms were sweaty, and I wiped them surreptitiously on my slacks. I was nervous.

"The plan is…" Malfoy began, then he saw the action and grinned. "Nervous, eh? Don't worry…it'll be so easy, after it's all over you'll wonder why you never thought of it before."

"Let's hear your plan," I said.

"At seven thirty, Potter and his fiancee are going to picnick in the Hogwarts grounds, began Malfoy."

"Hang on, isn't it term-time?" I exclaimed.

"You've really been out of the loop, haven't you?" said Malfoy, arching his eyebrows at me. "It's the last day before Christmas holidays end, nutcase. This year, everyone has gone home. I've done some checking…unlike you."

I reddened, and said nothing. Truth is, I'd forgotten it was Christmas entirely.

"Sentimentality runs deep in a Gryffindor. I'm guessing Potter and his little sweetums will be sitting by the beech tree, the big one near the Great Lake."

"I remember that was a favourite for the 'Golden Trio'," I said.

"I didn't know that," said Malfoy, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Now, anyway, I've got here…" and he removed a bundle from inside his cloak, "…an Invisibility Cloak."

I stared at the shiny bundle of mist-like material, wondering if I was really seeing what I was seeing. It shimmered in the first few rays of the sunlight, and I recalled that they used to say that Invisibility Cloaks were made of morning mist and moonlight.

"Where did you get that?" I blurted.

"The Ministry seized several articles from Malfoy Manor in their raids during the war," said Draco, "but they missed this Invisiblity Cloak for the simple reason that I was hiding under it in a corner."

"I see," I said, still staring at the Invisibility Cloak. I'd heard rumours that Potter had one of these, but I'd never seen one until today.

"You put on the Invisibility Cloak and sneak in as I enter Hogwarts. I'll be pretending to take a stroll around and," here Malfoy's face twisted in a bitter grin, "reminisce about the 'good old days.'"

I snorted. "Some good old days."

"You go in, do the job, and get out immediately. There'll be no proof of anything…as long as you do your job."

"Rest assured," I said. "It'll be done to our satisfaction."

"Good. You're quite steady…sure you've never done this before?" laughed Malfoy lightly.

Somehow I couldn't look him in the eye.

* * *

_**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.**_

I needed a break, get away from Malfoy a while. So I made an excuse that I wanted to scout out the grounds a bit, and walked up the drive to Hogwarts.

As I walked into the Great Hall and out onto the lawn, I breathed in the atmosphere. The school was quiet, eerily so. I wondered why, until I realised that my entire time spent in here had been spent in hijinks with the rest of my schoolmates. Hogwarts had never really been quiet.

Not this quiet, anyway. It felt like a graveyard, the Great Hall did, and I left quickly.

Outside, in the fresh morning sunshine, I felt better. But even the lawns felt deserted, without the one or two figures strolling about that I'd always seen during my days at school.

As I wandered into the classroom block, a pearly-white figure floated out of the wall in front of me.

"Nearly-Headless Nick!" I exclaimed, and he turned around.

"Well, hello there, Dean," beamed Nick, making a short little bow. "What brings you here?"

"Just a bit of sightseeing, is all," I said. Lying had never been a habit, but recently I found it easier and easier to do so. It disturbed me a bit.

"Well, you picked a fine time," chuckled the old ghost, "the students will be coming back on the morrow, and you've got the castle all to yourself."

_You're wrong,_ I thought. _Potter will be here. And I'll be waiting._ But I smiled at Nick, saying "Yeah. I'll just go look around in the classrooms."

"Visiting the Potions Dungeon? Reliving _pleasant _memories down _there?_" said Nick, a twinkle in his silvery eye.

"Oh, I just _love_ the idea of brewing nasty potions in a cold, damp prison cell with a snarky, biased Potions Master breathing down my back," I said.

Nick chuckled and we said goodbye.

I entered Classroom Twelve, the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. As I gazed at the blackboard, memories of life with Harry, Neville, Seamus, Ron and all the others washed over me…

I toured the castle, saying hi to the Fat Lady outside the Gryffindor common-room, wandering the familiar corridors, remembering all the pranks and Dungbombs we'd let off around school.

I stepped into the Great Hall, and felt an enormous sense of…of…of I don't know what. It grew inside me, and swelled and swelled until it filled my stomach and chest and ached to be released.

As I neared one of the side-exits out of the Great Hall, I spotted the Gryffindor table. Glancing around to see no-one was watching, I smiled to myself as I sat down…the old hardwood chair in which I'd spent my days talking to Seamus and Neville.

By my side, it was as if Neville had magically materialised. "Dean, I just heard the most interesting thing in Herbology today. Did you know, Eloise Midgen…"

And on the other side was Seamus, whispering, "Brunette at nine o' clock, lovely, I'd give her a 75 at least…"

And Harry, "What's the score for West Ham versus Manchester City?"

And Ron, "What's your point spread on the Kestrels-Tornadoes match tonight, Dean?"

And Ginny, her eyes all aglow, saying "Dean, guess what, I just heard in the girls' toilet that…"

I almost reached out my arms to pull her to me, the illusion was so real. It was as if I was in sixth-year again, with not a care in my heart…

Then the Ginny-illusion vanished, replaced by a tearful woman, long red hair matted and unkempt. "Oh, Dean…I-I-I don't know what to do…H-h-harry's b-been…oh, Dean, I loved him so m-much…and now he's gone…"

It tore me apart inside to see her like that. I blinked and looked away hastily from where I'd imagined (I was sure I'd imagined it) her to be. And as I looked up, I saw the Bloody Baron standing there, a thousand blood-stained wounds on his body.

"What do you want?" I growled.

"Do you know why I was killed?" whispered the ghost softly. He sounded as if he was speaking from very far away; his voice seemed to reverberate and echo slightly in the Hogwarts Great Hall.

"No. Why would I give a damn?" I said rudely.

"I was killed," said the Bloody Baron, ignoring me, "because I was a great Seer. I had the power of the Inner Eye in far greater amounts than Cassandra Trelawney ever did."

"Bra-vo," I muttered.

"But I was reviled. I could not control my power, and I…I showed people their futures, whether they liked it or not. Of course, it didn't help that I was preachy, too, telling them that the bad omens they saw in their various visions that were caused by me could be prevented…_if _they tried to correct their lives," said the Baron. "So one day, they murdered me."

"And what does this have to do with me?" I asked.

"I read minds too. And my abilities stayed with me to the death," he said pointedly.

Silence.

"You've read my mind, then?" I snapped.

"Yes," said the Baron, inclining his head.

"And my future?"

"Yes. That vision of her was your future…at least, it was a possible future, depending on far too many factors for you, or even I, to comprehend."

I snorted, and turned my back on him. Behind me, I heard him call, "I have warned."

That was it. The last straw. Turning back to him, I stormed over to the Baron. "So you think I shouldn't do it, eh? You think my future's all that bad, eh? Well, let me tell you that I'm going to carry on with it, and I'm going to fulfil my task, and I'm going to get her and we'll all live happily ever after!"

The Baron fixed me with a baleful stare.

I stared back for a moment, then suddenly, a cloudy mist threw me into darkness and confusion.

* * *

**Act 3: Visions**

In the kitchen of the Burrow, sorrowful, weeping Ginny sat at the table with her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking as her body was wracked with sobs.

_Around her, her family and several of her classmates and friends gathered around her. Luna Lovegood, looking sadly serious, put her hands around Ginny and whispered comforting words of reassurance into her ear._

_But nothing could console the weeping woman. Around her, her brothers stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do._

_In a corner, Ron held a sobbing Hermione to his chest, a tear trickling down the tallest Weasley's cheek. Across the room, Bill held his mother tightly, his visage grim and stony-faced even as he comforted his weeping mother._

"_If we ever find the berk who did this," muttered Percy, his almost-formal demeanour melted away._

"_That's one thing we'll help you with…brother," said Fred._

"_I have many contacts in the Ministry," said Percy. "They'll pursue this case to the bitter end."_

"_I hope they call us in when they catch the murderer," said Charlie, flexing his muscles angrily._

"_We also might help with that hunt," said a voice from the doorway. Lupin held a tearful Tonks in his arms, and a wolf-like fierceness and determination emanated from him._

_The vision changed._

_It was the kitchen of my house! Mum stood there, shock etched in every single line of her weary face. Then, a single drop of fluid rolled down her cheeks._

"_Mum? What's wrong?" I asked. "Why are you crying? Why…?"_

_She turned to the doorway, and Father was there! She handed him a sheet of paper…paper that I recognised instantly as wizarding parchment._

"_They say our son's a murderer!" she screamed. "It's not true, it's not, it can't be, there's been some mistake…"_

_Jeremy? Little Jeremy, a murderer? No! My little brother wouldn't do such a thing! He was just fifteen, for God's sake! Then who was Mum talking about…?_

_The vision changed again._

_Now the kitchen had morphed into a dark room, panelled with cold brick, tiled with chill flagstones. All was stone and rock, chipped and worn with the passage of hundreds, maybe even thousands of prisoners over the years. Moss covered the walls, and out the barred window one could see waves crashing onto the shore. _

_There was a black pit in the middle. Two wizards used their wands to levitate a sack-like object into the pit, dumping it unceremoniously inside._

"_What a jerk," muttered one of them, giving it a kick. The sack-like thing moaned. "Killed the Chosen 'un, I 'eard."_

"_Yeah, the ungrateful brute," said the other._

"_Fill 'er up," replied the first. Pointing his wand at the heaped pile of dirt nearby, he muttered an incantation._

_The sand and soil leapt into the pit, covering the sack-like thing as it screamed in fear and horror._

"NOOOOOOOOOO!"

* * *

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" 

I fell forward on my knees, sobbing. I screamed, "Is this my destiny? Is this my future? Answer me! Answer me, you malignant spirit! You foul demon! Filthy, lying ghost!"

"What's the matter," came a familiar drawl from the doorway to the Great Hall, "pressure getting to you?"

I whirled around; Draco Malfoy stood there, smirking. "Is the rough, tough murderer going nuts with the suspense?" he said. But the humour never reached his eyes. Those cold, beady eyes glared at me with unchecked suspicion and a faint hostility. His hand drifted down casually near his wand pocket.

Ginny's grief-whitened features flashed before me again… 

A profound shame entered me as I saw what I had become. What I had nearly done. I looked at my hands; those hands more accustomed to the quill than the wand. Would those same hands have murdered a lady's husband and carried her off as their own? Would they be blood-stained and be a shame to their master?

_Ginny…_

Never would I let that come true. Never.

I took a deep breath, and then my hand whipped into my slacks pocket, then, wand in hand, punching straight out in front of me, like they taught in dueling class; fast, a very fast draw honed by countless near-escapes with Harry and the rest of the Order.

But Malfoy was faster. Before I'd even completed the draw, his first curse was flying at me. I barely had enough time to raise a Shield Charm before the spell impacted.

The force of the spell near brought me to my knees, and blew two nearby chairs into wooden splinters…but my Shield held.

I dived to one of the side entrances, shouting. "_Stupefy! Stupefy!"_

He deflected the two Stunners easily.

"Weakling," spat Malfoy. "You were never in Potter's league. It's no wonder he's the one who got the Weaslette."

I deflected a second Blasting Curse, the force of which tore chunks out of the wall near me. I knew what he was doing; he was trying to distract me enough to kill me.

But it was okay. I was okay.

I felt invigorated, far better than I'd ever had for a long, long time. No longer did I feel empty, my emotions bound up and trapped, no. I felt ready to fight and ready to live, I felt strong, refreshed; _reborn._

That was because I now had a new objective in life, other than moping over what could have been. Now, I resolved to let the past be the past, and let the future be the future…now I wanted to live in the present.

"_Stupefy! Impedimenta…Petrificus Totalus!"_ I yelled.

Malfoy blocked the first, ducked the second, deflected the third towards me. I evaded the bolt of light and fired back a series of Impediment Jinxes.

The spells struck tables and chairs, showering Malfoy with wooden splinters. He panicked, and I cheered silently as I saw a streak of yellow sparks shoot into his torso.

At least one or two got through to him, and he was flung backwards into the wall.

"Yield," I called, the word echoing around the Great Hall. The portraits were staring at the sight, some running to call friends and acquaintances, and there were one or two ghosts which popped their silvery heads in to see what the noise was about  and promptly retreated at full speed.

"Never!" he yelled defiantly. He struggled back to his feet.

I ran for the main entrance from the Atrium to the Great Hall, but a Blasting Curse shot over my shoulder and slammed into the archway, the blast flinging me aside.

Masonry and wooden beams crumbled and blocked off the doorway. I got up painfully to my feet, and saw that Malfoy was but seven feet away. He dragged his right leg behind him, still being operated on by the jinx.

"You won't escape me, Mudblood," snarled Malfoy. He pointed his wand at me.

I took aim with both hands willing myself not to miss. I couldn't afford to. As I did, I concentrated on his soiled features, his arrogant smirk, the insult that still hung in the air; he was the very embodiment of all that I hated.

This one's for you, Ginny… 

"_Diffindo! Diffindo! Diffindo!"_ he cried.

I saw the blue sparks curling towards me, as if in slow motion.

"Reducto!" 

The red streak of light shot across the five feet that separated us now, and caught him in the torso, center-chest. He screamed, an unearthly scream that chilled me to the bone. The force of the spell raised him off the floor, and flung him effortlessly across the Slytherin table; his body swept every single eating utensil and candelabra off the table.

I could feel his last spells slicing into me like the Grim Reaper's scythe; he too had caught me center-chest. There was the unmistakable sound of fabric tearing apart as three long, bloody rips appeared in my shrit where his spells had struck; my flesh screamed in agony as the muscles, ligaments and tendons were severed almost audibly.

I fell to the floor with a gasp on my lips; blood pooled on the ground in front of me. But I forced myself to get up off the floor. I raised myself to a sitting position.

Suddenly, a voice yelled _"Reducto!"_ and chunks of brick and wood exploded all over the room. Pebble-sized pieces of stone and wood rained down on me. I felt a hard surface smack me on the cheek. It was cool, cool and chilly.

Strange it is, but I discovered that I couldn't see. I felt feet pattering across the flagstones, then I felt myself turned over onto my back. Had I fallen? I couldn't remember.

"Dean! Dean Thomas!" said a voice, coming down from a high way up, echoing, like it came from maybe a tunnel. Even though it was distorted, I could recognise the voice.

"Harry?" I croaked. I coughed; dust had gotten into my throat. I brought my right hand up to my mouth (ever the polite, mild-mannered Muggleborn!) and felt a sticky fluid spatter my fingers.

"Shhh, don't talk, Dean. We'll get you to St. Mungo's."

I felt hands pushing aside the torn fragments of my shirt; Harry gasped as he beheld my injuries. But he and I weren't the only one there.

I felt another presence. Her presence (I knew it was her) was like electricity tingling my skin.

"Ginny," I said. It came out low and weak, and I knew my time was near.

"Dean," she said. I could hear the breath hitch in her throat. I raised my left hand with an effort.

Her soft fingers took it, and clasped it to her cheek. She knelt by my side. On my right, Harry was muttering.

"_Episkey! Episkey!"_

I coughed again, turning my head aside. The bitter-salty taste was in my blood now, a metallic smell…the smell of death.

"It's my fault, Ginny…I was jealous. Jealous of you and Harry. I…I came here with mischief in mind."

"Stop babbling," said Harry.

I could feel fluid, a different kind of fluid, wetting my left hand. "Don't cry, Ginny," I smiled. "Here's my wedding present…two, in fact."

I jerked my right thumb over my shoulder. "That's Malfoy. What's left of him, anyhow. The human body isn't exactly solid, but a Reductor Curse in the chest at close range ought to send him to meet his blasted father."

"Dean, you're going to survive," said Ginny, in between quiet sobs.

"My second present is life…life that I'd intended to take today. Congratulations, Harry, Ginny; live well."

It was becoming harder to speak. The pain was fading, erased by a numbness that spread through my chest, making it difficult to talk, move or breathe.

"Baron!" I whispered. "Bloody Baron! I thank you for your visions; they have shown me the future I must avoid. Now let me see the present once more!"

"_As you say_," came a deep, sepulchral voice by my ear.

The darkness in front of my eyes fled, and light came into my vision again. A tearful Ginny held my hand tight, while Harry laboured might and main over the remnants of my chest.

"Thank you, Baron."

"_You are welcome. I sincerely hope you will not need to join the ranks of Hogwarts' ghosts."_

"Thank you."

As the vision provided by the Baron fled, I saw a flash of fire, and Fawkes the phoenix appeared in the air above me.

"Forgive me, Ginny, Harry…I love you both," I cried with my remaining strength.

Then all was dark.

_**The End**_

* * *

**Author's Note:** I don't generally do songfics, but a plot bunny jumped out of nowhere and attacked me. 

Read and review please!


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